


King of Pain

by blue_shine



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Anslo Garrick, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:22:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_shine/pseuds/blue_shine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate version of events (with some non-alternate dialogue from the show thrown in) for Anslo Garrick - Conclusion on: Red is rescued in the church, but his reprieve is short-lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unseen Hurt

**BALTIMORE, MARYLAND**

Liz watched from across the street as a group of men—Red's men?—set up near the perimeter. As if reading her thoughts, the woman she'd known all of two hours addressed her.

"Stay in the car," said Mr. Kaplan, her voice low and even. "My orders are to keep you safe." Dembe suddenly joined them, jumping in behind Liz.

Inside, one of Garrick's men alerted to him the approaching hostiles. "We've got company."

Anslo nodded, hearing it for himself.

"What about him?"

Looking at Red, Anslo sniffed. Disappointed didn't begin to cover it, but that was that. Fitch was just going to have to make some new arrangements. "Leave him," he said.

The man who had been bracing the pulley system released his hold, forcing Red to stand on his own as he did upon arriving. The measure of just how much he'd come to rely on this additional support hit Red in an instant as his legs buckled under him. He would have been fine with the prospect of kneeling, but the chain was not long enough, and he painfully pulled himself back to a standing position.

Shouldering his weapon, Anslo walked past and gave Red a sad, lopsided smile. He saluted with two fingers. "Till we meet again, Red."

Liz's eyes locked on Dembe in the rearview. Mr. Kaplan was just getting word that Garrick was nowhere in sight.

"No, we haven't seen him come out on this side," she confirmed, peering out the window. "Let me know when—"

Abruptly, Liz pulled on her door handle and hopped out of the car, making for the entrance that Red's team had cleared.

Mr. Kaplan watched her in disbelief before turning around to meet Dembe's similarly startled face. "Christ," she muttered.

The interior of the old nave was starkly lit. As Liz's eyes adjusted, she saw a few of Red's men occupying the far end, their stances vigilant against any remaining combatants. One of them moved to consult with another, and the overhead light caught something black and white in their midst. Something suspended from a chain.

"Oh, my God," whispered Liz. She ran the rest of the way to where Red was standing—barely, from the looks of it, his arms extended over his head and held fast by cuffs that bound his wrists together. The guard nearest her nodded.

"You're good. We got you covered."

Breathlessly, Liz went up to him. His eyes were shut, the left side of his face streaked with blood. She instinctively reached for him, the realization of never having done so occurring to her as she tentatively cupped his cheek. "Red? Hey. Hey."

Red's mouth opened slightly but no words came, and it was then that Liz noticed how badly he was shaking. She moved her hand from his cheek to his forehead, feeling the alarming heat there. "God, he's burning up."

"Yes," said Mr. Kaplan, who had arrived at her side with Dembe and was scrutinizing Reddington for herself. "They must have given him something."

Liz turned back to catch Red wincing, as though she were somehow causing him pain. She removed her hand, and his eyes proceeded to open a crack. Any relief she expected to gain from Red looking back at her, however, was quickly dispelled at the sight of his groggy, bloodshot stare.

Unbeknownst to Liz, Red was rather heartened by his view: the incredibly blue eyes, the smudged makeup from one hellacious day that ringed them . . . The surprisingly naked concern they held for him, though—something he hadn't seen directed his way in he cared not to think how long—that was the icing on the cake. His lashes fluttered closed again.

"Red." The cuffs restraining him were too high for her to adequately reach, and Liz turned for Dembe. "We need to get him down," she blurted, needlessly.

Dembe moved behind Red and faced her. "Hold him," he instructed, reaching for the hook.

Liz obliged, hugging Red around his torso and feeling the weight of him sag into her as Dembe unlatched him. Red grunted at the newfound release, the chain above him swinging idly to and fro like a giant, ghastly pendulum.

"Let's get him on the floor," said Liz, but Red made awkwardly for the chair Anslo had used instead, and they helped him sit. At once his body pitched forward in an apparent attempt to relieve some unseen hurt. Liz bit her lip as she looked down at him.

"I'll get medics here," Mr. Kaplan said into her ear, retrieving a phone from her coat as she brushed by. The reminder prompted Liz to reach for her own phone.

"Yes," she verified her identity, after giving her badge number to Headquarters. "Put me through to Assistant Director Cooper, please?" She began to pace the floor, stopping when her boss's voice came on the line.

"Keen."

"Sir. I found Reddington."

There was a pause on the other end. "Alive?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing over at his hunched figure.

"Where are you?"

"We're at 527 Hollins Ferry Road, Baltimore. The site is secured, but Garrick's gone."

"'We'?" Harold's voice was clipped. "Tell me, Agent Keen, which part of 'stand down' was unclear to you?"

She hesitated. "This wasn't—"

"Never mind. We'll deal with that later. How is he?"

Liz turned from Red, moving slowly in the opposite direction. "They did a number on him, but EMTs are on the way. What's going on there? Should I bring him back to the Post Office?"

"Just sit tight for a minute. I'll contact you shortly."

Liz hung up with Cooper and walked back to Red and Dembe, who was standing protectively over him. She nodded at him, then knelt in front of Red. His head was still bowed, and she regarded the fuzz of his hair.

"Hey. We've got medics on the way. Real ones this time," she added gently, in the hope of some reaction. Red raised his head, but the battered, twitching features that met her only served to underscore the chain of events that had led them to this spot, and Liz all but flinched under a fresh and dizzying wave of guilt. Whatever Red had endured here, it was all because of her.

"I'm sorry I lost you," she breathed, meaning it.

Red blinked lethargically as he focused on her, hoping he wasn't shivering as much as it felt like he was. "'s'all right."

A rueful smile crossed Liz's face. "Slipped on a banana peel," she said, shrugging.

For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, Red smiled back. His eyes flickered over the bloody scratches that Liz bore herself: abrasions she must have picked up right after she'd disappeared from view. "Glad you're OK, Lizzy."

"Yeah," she said, exhaling shortly. "Now we're just going to make sure you are."

A blasé expression lifted Red's eyebrows in a familiar, comforting way. "I've had worse."

Liz glanced at Dembe, who looked encouraged as well.

"How's Ressler," asked Red, "since I can see you want to keep me talking here."

"In surgery," she replied, nodding. "They save that leg, it's thanks to you."

"Mmm." Red suddenly motioned towards Mr. Kaplan with his chin. "Mr. Kaplan's fun, isn't she?"

Liz followed Red's gaze. "She is very helpful to have around."

"That she is."

Liz looked up at Dembe again before returning her attention to Red. "I'm sorry about Luli," she said quietly.

Red shuddered, conveniently avoiding her eyes. "Me too," he acknowledged, his voice like gravel.

Having taken a long and thoroughly numbing look at the box and its surface sprayed with blood when she was dropped back at the Post Office, Liz could only imagine what the view must have been from the inside.

"Hey—" she said, brushing his arm, "we're going to find him."

He let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. "Oh, something tells me I'm going to first."

Liz frowned but didn't have time to ask what he meant, as Cooper called her back then with orders on where to report with Reddington after he was treated for his injuries. All immediate threats neutralized, she could feel the adrenaline of the last few hours start to ebb, even as the gravity of the day's events began to settle over her like some invisible, pernicious burden. The wail of an ambulance outside signaled the arrival of the EMTs, and she readied herself to meet them.

"Lizzy."

She turned at the sound of his voice.

"I'm glad I scared you," said Red, the weary smile on his bloodied face lending a further irony to his words. "I was beginning to wonder, you know."

 

* * *

 

There's a little black spot on the sun today  
It's the same old thing as yesterday  
There's a black hat caught in a high treetop  
There's a flagpole rag and the wind won't stop

. . .


	2. Brought Down Close

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

"Have you heard from him?"

Barely through the last of the Post Office's new security checkpoints, Liz looked at Cooper and the waiting faces of Meera and Aram. "No," she replied slowly, assuming the obvious. "Reddington?"

"He hasn't checked in like I asked him to," said Cooper. "I was hoping he might have with you, and we hadn't lost him again."

She shook her head, thinking of Red's comment the night of Frederick Barnes, how he could cease to exist in sixty seconds if he wanted to. "Who left with him on Tuesday?" she asked, though in truth the answer did not much interest her. In her mind, she was already running possibilities, seeking answers.

"Mr. Reddington was complaining about being tired, and Hastings and Zaworski accompanied him to a place in Silver Spring for the night," said Aram. "They're, uh, well, they're still not really sure how he got by them."

An unwelcome thought, the possibility of which would never have occurred to her until the moment Red turned up silent and trembling on a hook, gripped Liz suddenly. "They don't think—they don't think somebody got to him, do they?"

"There's nothing to suggest that at first blush, no," Meera replied.

"While they work the scene there, I want all of the intel we have on Garrick," said Cooper, addressing Liz again. "I know Ressler's recovering still, but he's your first stop."

"Yes, sir." Liz went to grab some notes from her desk and headed out again. She decided to stop home first and take Hudson for a quick walk before going to the hospital, figuring she could use the time to clear her head.

Life, of course, had been strange since the day she started this job and Red inserted himself smack-dab into the center of everything, but with the events of Tuesday, so much had changed all over again. The stakes were higher. Lives lost, lives almost lost. And the person at the root of all of it knew her now; knew what she looked like.

The only good thing about any of this was that it was a distraction from Dad.

Most days, she cried at least once on the way to somewhere and wondered if anybody ever saw this, whether in their rearview or while stopped alongside her. Probably not, she decided (at least behind her sunglasses, anyway), but a small and childish part of her always hoped someone would notice. Then, whenever she got home, if Tom wasn't there for some reason, she literally cried until she couldn't breathe, and her eyes burned in secret for the rest of the night. She had come to realize just how lucky she was to have Tom, though. He'd been more than supportive through the grieving process, and she found solace in his company.

Liz pulled up to their street and parked. Hudson was there to meet her at the door as always, tail wagging.

"Hey, buddy," she greeted back, moving past him inside. She was about to hang her bag up when she glimpsed the apple on the kitchen table.

Her heart dropped. No. It wasn't possible . . .

Liz took immediate stock of her surroundings, panic setting in despite Hudson's apparent calm. She stepped forward in trepidation. As she drew closer, she could see there was a note tucked beneath the apple, and she went to pick it up. The message was scrawled in red ink:

_THE BIG ONE OF THESE—HOWEVER YOU CAN. WILL CALL._

_Red_

Liz's eyes trailed up to meet the empty house in front of her. She thought of the van she knew was parked outside. The mandated surveillance on all Post Office personnel until Garrick's inside man was rooted out meant she would have to make like she was going back to work and somehow leave from there. Assuming she really was going, that is. She looked down to Hudson for the answer. He blinked up at her patiently, his tongue coming out to briefly touch his nose.

"Not to worry, bud. Walk comes first."

As she retrieved his leash and ushered him to the door, her mind was already made up. Ressler was just going to have to wait until the morning.

»»««

Fitch was angry about the thwarted handover of Reddington, it turned out. Anslo didn't really care. If anyone should be well cross right now, it was him.

"Unfuckingbelievable," he muttered after hanging up with him.

Carranza glanced at him from across the room. "We still leaving tonight? Milan is only a week away."

Anslo shook his head, his eyes roaming the floor. "Mr. Fitch made promises to me, and I'm not about to be robbed of that because of happenstance. I just have to find him before he does, that's all." He rose from his seat, draining his glass.

"And lucky for me now," he told his friend, a slow smile turning on his face as he wiped his mouth with his thumb, "I know _just_ how to make old Red come running."

»»««

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK**

He'd called her from some pay phone or burner, with instructions to meet at Rockefeller Center at 6:00. The sun had already set an hour and a half ago, and Liz adjusted her scarf as she walked down Fifth Avenue, feeling anxious. What news did he have for her, if any? Would he be back to full strength, embarrassed by the condition she had found him in? No, she decided just as quickly: no matter what his current state, Red didn't seem the type to feel embarrassed about—well, anything.

It did appear he was taking every precaution for meeting with her, selecting what had to be one of the most congested spots on the planet this time of year, but then maybe this was also the last place Red thought people would look for him, she considered, glimpsing the giant lighted snowflakes on the storefront of Saks as she crossed at 49th. While she didn't have all the details surrounding his disappearance on Christmas Eve some twenty years ago, she'd still heard enough and spent enough time with him to know there had to be more to it than what his official file read. He must hate Christmas, she thought with some sadness.

Passing under light-encrusted trees, Liz turned at the line of flags surrounding the ice skating rink. The 76-foot Norway spruce had just been lit yesterday, and people were taking pictures everywhere. She spotted Dembe, who gave her a subtle nod. The reality that Luli's death had knocked Red's team down to one was hard to ignore as she acknowledged him back.

Liz didn't see Red anywhere but knew Dembe would have a visual on him, and on top of the Concourse, behind Prometheus and the fountain he hovered over, she found him—wearing a navy knit cap, a seeming preponderance of coats, and jeans. Jeans, Liz confirmed, with more than a little incredulity as she approached. A coffee cup rested on the ledge before him, and the sight of him so defended against the cold made Baltimore, where she'd never felt the skin of anyone so hot in her life, seem like a lifetime ago. Apart from the cut healing above his eye, nothing else was overtly different about him, but the combined effect was enough to suggest the FBI may have never found him, had he not turned himself in. Liz joined Red's side, looking at the skaters moving below.

"Don't you just love New York at Christmas?" he murmured, taking a sip from his beverage.

Liz's head shook in silent wonder. Just when she thought she might understand something about this man, he managed to prove her wrong. "Yeah," she agreed, scanning the tableau for herself, trying to see it through his eyes.

Red smiled, lifting his head to regard the Manhattan sky, nearly as bright as day and brought down close in the reflection of light against clouds. "They say this winter's gonna be a bad one. Calling for snow early next week, as a matter of fact."

"You follow weather reports now?"

"I follow everything," said Red. "So," his languid voice sang to her, if not very playfully, " _how's_ the F-BI?"

"Looking for you. You're our new number one."

"Oh, I bet I am," he said around a dark chuckle, again reminding her of their last encounter. She suddenly wanted more than anything to hear a genuine laugh out of him.

"Donald still on the mend?" he asked her.

"Yeah." She faced the rink, feeling, for some reason, the need to grant him that small privacy for her next question. "How 'bout you?"

Red's eyes also remained in front of him. "I'm not setting one foot in the Post Office until I'm done getting to the bottom of this," he said, and for a second Liz thought he hadn't heard her. "As I'm sure you're all aware, you have a mole."

At this, she nodded, looking off at the changing colored lights and rushing water of the fountain. "We are."

Red turned, finally and properly taking in the sight of her. From two hundred miles away, Anslo's words needled him.

_The girl. The agent. I want to know who she is._

"You needn't look so guilty by association, Lizzy. It doesn't flatter you. And besides—you went against your boss's orders to find me." He put his hand to his chest. "You used _my_ people to find me. At the risk of making you even more uncomfortable than I already have these past few months, I'm touched." When his suggestion was met with no protest, he returned to his coffee.

Liz continued to watch the water tumble and fall. She knew exactly what she _should_ be doing right now, but there were just so many questions. Most of all, she wanted to know why: Why'd you do it? Why walk straight into that man's waiting arms for me? Regardless of what the future held, it was impossible to deny things were different between them now. Forever.

"So why do this in person—" she did ask, finally, "why not over the phone?"

On the other side of the ice, a very small boy went down on his backside and was promptly helped to his feet by his older brother. Red's mind flashed to Sam. God, Sam. He could still feel his body fighting underneath him; still hear Elizabeth, tense and oblivious, halfway across the country.

"I screwed up," he said in a low voice, the admission at once surprising and vague. Liz had a feeling he was going to leave it at that, which he did.

"Anslo?" she pressed.

His head shook incomprehensibly. "He knows about you now."

"You're forgetting that _I_ don't know about me still," she replied. "About why I'm so important to you?"

"Lizzy," said Red, smiling thinly. "As you may be forgetting, I've been through a tre _men_ dous physical ordeal. My hands have finally stopped shaking long enough to hold a hot beverage, the likes of which, I might add, is the only thing keeping a merciless headache at bay."

Liz saw the deflection for what it was, but the fact remained—perhaps one of the more unsettling things to come out of all of this—that Red must have been conditioned to withstand what the doctors said he had under Anslo. When? And by whom? Emboldened, she met his eyes.

"I've never seen anyone in that state," she told him. "When we found you, you know?"

"Hmm," Red chortled. "You should talk to Agent Malik."

Master of deflection indeed. "Garrick and his team . . ." she went on, undeterred, "do you think they'll try again?"

"I don't know."

Liz paused, hating to sound melodramatic, but the concern was real. "What if they come after me?" she asked.

Red held her worried gaze, his lips pushing out very far. "Then I'll come after you."

She believed him, of course—and maybe it was just that she needed some levity in that moment, but between his grim and healing face and the inescapable Christmas all around them, a funny thought struck Liz then, and a smile lapsed across her face. Red peered at her, his own expression softening.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking of _It's a Wonderful Life_ , you know . . . Not like you're my guardian angel or anything," she quickly prefaced, already regretting the decision to say any of this out loud, "but when George tells Clarence, 'Well, you look about like the kind of an angel I'd get.'"

"'Sort of a fallen angel, aren't you?'" Red quoted, not missing a beat. He laughed softly. "Yeah. Always loved George. And Clarence. Please, though—" he said, his tone suddenly derisive as he raised his cup and held it there while he finished talking, "don't worry about _Ans_ lo."

He drank from his coffee. Liz stared at him. Never mind that _Ans_ lo was the one who last had you by both wrists, Red.

Lowering his cup again, Red hunched into the Concourse's granite ledge while simultaneously angling closer to Liz. "With everything that's happened," he said, "I know you're feeling rudderless right now, but you shouldn't."

Her eyes welled instantly at his words, and Red dipped his head, his jaw clenching in surprise. "I just need to take care of some things," he recovered, barely, before looking at her again. "Lizzy, I want you to know, wherever I am, whatever I'm doing—if you are in need, I will be there."

She was searching his face back now, still trying to reconcile this version of the man in front of her with the one she knew. At least in the church in Baltimore, even through the blood and the gloom and the dark and terrifying circumstances, Red looked like Red. It was suddenly as though she didn't recognize him at all. His assurance did comfort her, though, and Liz nodded briskly in acknowledgement, scrubbing her foot against the ground.

"So," she said, needing to take a step back from the intensity of everything once again while also realizing her boss would probably appreciate at least one second of her acting like an FBI agent in the course of this secret meeting, "you're not going to check in with Cooper at all, then?"

"I haven't decided. Soon, maybe."

"I bet he's wishing that chip was back in you. Who knows, maybe I'll end up getting one of my own at this rate."

"Yes, it is a bit curious they didn't think to replace that when they had the chance," Red pondered. "Helps me out quite nicely for the time being, although those things are an absolute _bitch_ to get out in a hurry, let me tell you."

Liz looked at him, the thought having never crossed her mind when they found him: what it must have taken to get the chip out between the time she was tossed from the ambulance and the moment she found it lying in the street. He finished what was left of his coffee and sniffed, glancing past her in the direction of Dembe.

"I have to go."

"Oh—" Liz tried not to act surprised, "yeah, um. OK."

"Be on the lookout for anything suspicious. And watch your six. Especially at work."

"Yeah." There was so much more Liz needed to know, so much to ask, to say. Why was she letting him go like this?

"Lizzy," Red said then. His eyes were suddenly like flint. "Be careful of your husband."

She stared back at him, a defensive instinct rising in her as she thought of Tom's own pleas the other day.

_You need to walk away from this job before it destroys you._

_I need us, together. And safe._

Liz wanted to challenge Red, to implore him to explain what in God's name he meant, once and for all, and yet under those eyes, she found that she could not.

"Stay out of trouble," she told him, lamely.

He smiled, but there was a remoteness to his expression she had never seen before. Not cold, and not disingenuous, yet something vaguely troubling all the same. It was as though he were a million miles away. Or maybe just the opposite: he was very close to something, and he did not want to be.

Liz turned and started back towards the street. And wondered why it was, for all her resentment at this never-ending routine Red had of keeping her in the dark, she felt more and more alone with every step she took from him.

Red's smile faded as he watched Elizabeth recede through the crowd. He returned his attention to the skaters below and considered them for another minute or two before easing himself back off the ledge. Hitching his hood up against the night, he finally moved away.

 

* * *

 

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain  
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain  
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign  
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

. . .


	3. In the Wind

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

The concept of Friday didn't mean much in the life of a federal agent, Liz supposed as she headed to the hospital the next morning, but she was glad it was nonetheless. Upon entering Ressler's room, she found him awake, a rare and openly relieved smile crossing his face at the sight of her. She could see freckles in this light that were not ordinarily visible at work.

"Hey," she greeted, returning the smile even as she let her eyes travel the length of his leg. The one he nearly lost, the one that nearly killed him.

"Hey back," said Ressler. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

Liz drew up a chair. "How you doing?"

"Good, good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean I'm alive, and I got my leg, so."

"Right." Liz looked at it again. "How's the pain?" she asked, scrunching her nose.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's a very helpful re _mind_ er I still have my leg, but hey." He lifted the PCA pump at his side. "This helps, too."

Liz nodded in sympathy, and something softened in Ressler's expression.

"Seriously, though, Liz, thank God. I've gotten zero updates in here, and when you guys left with Garrick . . ." Just as quickly, he shook his head. "Team found you and Red?" he asked nonchalantly.

Touched, Liz did her best to hide her own reaction to this not-so-subtle recovery. "Well, not exactly— _Red_ 's team found Red, but then we lost him again."

"Wait, what?" An unmistakable fear sparked in Ressler's eyes. "Red's still with Garrick?"

Liz looked at him sideways. "No—no, we got him back from Garrick. He disappeared from the safe house later that night, though."

"But we've got Garrick at least."

She shook her head. "In the wind."

Ressler's gaze drifted from her.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, his lips turning down at the corners. "It's just . . . I had a front-row seat to everything between those two, you know?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm here, actually."

Ressler shifted a bit, like he was preparing to get comfortable. "Oh. OK."

"Assuming you're up to it, of course."

"No, yeah. Sure."

Liz gave an appeasing smile and went to retrieve her notepad from her bag. It was then that Ressler noticed the scrapes that were just evident beneath the light makeup on her forehead. "You get a few punches in, at least?" he asked.

Her eyes rolled up in that direction. "Not exactly," she laughed. "I hear you pulled a Mr. Orange back there, though? After we left, how you saved everyone. Showing off."

Ressler gave Liz a look of his own. "Since when are you a  _Reservoir Dogs_  fan, Keen?"

"OK," she conceded. "Analogy by Aram."

"Mmm. Thought so."

"Well, thanks anyway. For doing that."

"Hey. Least I could do, you know."

"Yeah. Well," said Liz, tucking her hair behind her ear as she put pen to paper, "I guess basically, if you could just take me through what you remember . . . from what Red said, from what they said to each other."

"OK. Well, I mean, Cooper heard the same in terms of when Red first got to the Post Office. He said that Anslo meant to take him, and that we should all just get the hell out of there."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Then, I got shot," he said with a chagrined smile, and Liz nodded, a similar expression on her face, "and then, we were in the box. And Garrick started talking to him. I was busy trying to stay awake at that point, you know, I mean, I had to focus on something, so I just listened to Garrick's voice. And if anything? Red was underplaying it, Liz." He regarded her fully. "Garrick was serious, OK. He wants Red to pay."

"Pay for—?"

"For whatever led to their falling out. Garrick's face looks like that because of Red. And apparently, he was in prison five years or something, which I'm sure gave him all the downtime he needed to plan for this. I mean, literally, all he kept talking about while we were in there was how much he was looking forward to torturing him."

"OK." Liz frowned as she scribbled.

"How was he, anyway, when you found him?" Ressler asked, watching her write. "Well enough to skip town right after, I guess."

"Oh—yeah. He was pretty banged up, but yeah." She met his eyes. "He asked about you, too," she told him.

Ressler's features lifted. "He did?"

"Oh, my God, Ressler." Liz nearly threw her pen down. "What the hell happened between you two? For real."

He chuckled. "No, it's nothing. It's just . . . well, if you'd have told me a week ago that Red would be pulling out all the stops to save my hide, I mean, I wouldn't believe you for a second. And now that I know he already knew about me and Garrick in Brussels—"

"Whoa—you and Garrick in Brussels?"

"Yeah, at the train station, in Waterloo. The mission to take Reddington out." His head shook briskly. "From the case file."

"Oh. I didn't read through all of it," Liz admitted, suddenly embarrassed, "but I don't remember Garrick's name being mentioned?"

"I don't think it was, at least not officially. Garrick was my contact, though. The one who told me where Red would be that day."

"And Red's saying now that he knew it was you all along."

"Yep."

"You tried to kill him, though," she said, needing to drill this information into her head. "You tried to kill Red."

"Yeah. I almost had him, but he moved. Inches, you know. Milliseconds." Ressler blew softly through his lips. "He moved."

Liz nodded, still processing it.

"Of course, all those heroic measures to keep me alive, he reversed course the minute your life was at stake. Gun to the head and all."

"Yeah," Liz exhaled, her eyebrows descending. "I gotta be honest, uh . . . I still don't know quite what to make of that." She looked at him. "And he actually slapped you," she informed him, giggling, "before the gun-to-the-head theatrics."

"Oh, yeah?" Ressler laughed back. "Son of a bitch."

Their merriment gave way to a pensive silence as the memories of Tuesday came flooding back. Liz was thinking of Luli—the shock of seeing her lifeless body being dragged out of the way when she was brought down to Anslo; the swath of blood this left behind. The terror she was trying to keep at bay at that point, seeing her boss so helpless, her co-workers so helpless. Red, so helpless. His smile of reassurance at her, forced and sad, after giving Anslo exactly what he wanted.

"What would you say his state of mind was through all of this?" she asked. "When it was just the two of you. Did he seem rattled by the circumstances, or resigned, even?"

"No," Ressler said, remembering. "No, actually, he seemed pretty sure of himself. I said something about not making it out of there, and he said . . . he said he would never let someone like Garrick get the best of him, let alone the end of him."

"Hmm. Sounds like him."

"Yeah. I mean, the things he was talking about, all the things he said he still wanted to do . . . it just made me see him as a person for once, you know?"

"Wow, he made some impression on you," said Liz, feeling an odd pang of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "What was he saying?"

"I don't know. Maybe I imagined a lot of it," he said with a laugh. "God knows, I was probably half delirious. But yeah." A contemplative look came over his face again. "All of it, though. It's like, I can't help but feel glad now I missed him that day."

Liz had officially stopped taking notes. Her eyes went to his IV. "OK, whatever you're on here, I want some."

Ressler smiled, but it fell away as her continued to regard her. "We gotta find him, Liz. Before Garrick does."

"'We' don't have to do anything.  _You_  need to rest."

"I mean, I know Red can take care of himself, but if he's right, Anslo's got someone on the inside now. Working against us. Which is only gonna make our jobs a hell of a lot more difficult."

"Did Garrick mention anything that would indicate another location? Somewhere we might start looking for him?"

"No, I don't think so. You have any leads on Red?"

Liz shook her head, a twinge of guilt making her wonder if perhaps she should disclose their meeting in New York, but then Red hadn't exactly let her in on any of his plans, either. How had he put it?

_I just need to take care of some things._

She gave a thoughtful frown. "Is it bad, Ressler . . . do you think it's bad I'm kind of hoping he takes these people out? That, some part of me, I don't know, actually wants to see him stay ahead of law enforcement right now?"

Ressler looked to be genuinely considering this, which only reinforced whatever change had seemingly overtaken him. He smirked then. "Well, seeing as we are law enforcement? Yeah. Probably."

"That's what I thought," Liz said with a sigh. "So, when you getting out of here, anyway?

"Pretty soon, I think. They've already started me on PT, so I guess once they see I can get down the hall on crutches without falling on my face, I'm kicked out."

"Yeah," she replied, the image making her smile. "Well, I should probably get back to work. I'll see you soon, OK?"

"OK." Ressler smiled back. "Thanks, Keen."

"No," said Liz. "Thank you."

»»««

**GAITHERSBURG, MARYLAND**

Red was staring at the paramedic—a real one, despite what Lizzy said, the same who had so unceremoniously dug his chip out in the back of that ambulance. He would have guessed that she did, but she just confirmed it for him: she had kids. Unfortunately for the three of them, she was dead now.

"You don't have to stay, deary," Mr. Kaplan said from her crouched position, still focused on the task at hand. "In fact, I think we both know it's better if you don't."

When there was no response, she looked up at him, and watched as his eyes slowly left the body to meet her own. The hollowness of his expression concerned her, even more so than usual. She tried to smile. "You know I won't kick you out, though," she said, returning to her work.

"Mr. Kaplan," he said finally, drawing her attention again. "All of this . . ." He shook his head wonderingly at her. "It's necessary, yes?"

She held his gaze. "The day it no longer occurs to you to ask that question is one I don't wish to see. For now, though? Just think of Ms. Zeng, and you will have your answer."

The mere mention of Luli's name caused Red's vision to blur, and he nodded, nose wrinkling as he looked down at the ground. Newton was seeing to the transport of her ashes as they spoke. He could still feel the softness of her skin from the last time they were together. Still see her across the table from him in Munich, before Donald came in out of nowhere and everything went to hell. She was smiling. At him, at everyone. He had to hold on to that image of her—that image, and that image alone. Not the ones that kept him up at night, the ones that flashed before his eyes in the middle of the day when he least expected it.

Feeling his mouth pulling in ways that it should not, Red signaled Dembe his readiness to go. There was much to do. Later, he decided, he would give old Harold a call after all. The fact Cooper had lost multiple people because of him, not to mention almost died himself, had earned the man at least that. Red turned back in Mr. Kaplan's general direction, giving the dead mother and her permanently staring face one last look.

"I'll see you, Kate," he said quietly.

"See you, Raymond," she replied, watching his back until he was out of sight.

»»««

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

On Sunday morning, it snowed. Just enough to cover the ground, but they were already calling for more the next day, so it looked like Red's information was good, again. In a city that was known to shut down over a couple of flakes, the rare December dusting did not, however, delay Tom's flight to Nebraska. Liz was still trying to absorb the fact he had a job interview there tomorrow—for such a crazy suggestion, he just seemed so _sure_ of it somehow.

_We need to leave this place._

One thing she was going to take advantage of with her husband's absence tonight was Indian takeout, something he never seemed to care for very much. Right as she was pouring the raita over her chicken biryani was when the text message came through her phone. The sender was Nick's Pizza; the message reading:

Midnight - edge of Georgetown Waterfront Park closest to bridge

Liz set the phone back down on the counter and brought her bowl and glass of wine over to the table. She almost laughed, but there it was. Probably better Tom was away, seeing as he would be less than enthused about her going off in the middle of a night such as this, and especially after everything that had happened this week.

It didn't take her as long to get down to the park as she thought it would, and she made her way to the westernmost point as instructed, to the last overlook jutting out into the Potomac. There was a light drizzle falling that was starting to glaze the surfaces of the benches and trees. Shivering, Liz looked over at the Key Bridge and the intermittent cars crossing it. She made a mental note to personally thank Red for picking the coldest fucking spot possible to do this. Turning in the other direction, she gazed downriver at the sprawl of the Watergate Complex and the Washington Monument behind it. As her eyes receded, she realized, with a start, there were two figures standing some fifty yards from her on the opposite side of the same overlook. She could just make out the distinctive fedora.

Discreetly, Liz moved behind a tree so as to remain undetected. Red must have been taking care of two birds with one stone, scheduling these meetings back-to-back. She was early, after all. Dembe was nowhere to be seen, and she knew he must be staying out of sight himself. Red was nodding at the ground, apparently listening to whatever the man was telling him. He eventually answered with some response of his own, raising his hands as he spoke.

Another minute passed, and Red's hands didn't seem to be gesticulating anymore so much as they were, strangely, pressing out in front of him. Liz peered harder. When the other man reached into his coat, she knew—and could only watch, in the detached horror that tends to define such moments, as everything unfolded before her eyes.

A spark of muzzle flash, two shots fired in rapid succession, and Red doubled over, cradling himself beneath the drifting smoke. With no apparent sense of urgency, his assailant moved towards the street. Red listed behind him, then sank to his knees in the snow.

Gripping the tree that shielded her with one hand, Liz gasped into the glove of her other. She frantically searched the area for anyone else, knowing she had to assess the situation but also knowing Red needed her now. Where was Dembe? Her eyes went back to the dark mass that was Red's fallen form. There was no more movement that she could make out.

Liz took off running, the ground landing heavy and invisible underfoot as the sight of him bounced wildly ahead of her. "Oh, my God, oh, my God," she breathed into the frosty, spitting night. Hoping for some miracle, in the face of all signs pointing otherwise, that allowed for the reality she had not just witnessed Red's execution.

"Don't be dead," she prayed. "God, don't be dead. Don't be dead. Don't be dead." She skittered to a halt above him. Terrified of what she was going to find, she rolled him over.

"Red! Red!"

From the ground, Red stared up at her. Only, it wasn't Red at all. And whoever this was was very much alive—blinking impassively, as if he were waiting for her. Liz blinked back in confusion, wondering if perhaps she had finally lost her mind.

"Wh—"

The arms that grabbed her from behind were strong, and she instinctively began to struggle, fighting to free herself until the man she thought was Red got up and eliminated all chances of that completely.

»»««

**PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA**

As the little ones continued to gather in front of him, Dembe continued to wait. The most recent lead on the money behind Garrick's mission had not panned out, and they were just about to leave Philadelphia when they passed the department store housed in the old Wanamaker Building across from City Hall. Raymond asked if he could have five minutes to himself inside, which Dembe had reluctantly granted. The children settling into spots on the marble floor of the Grand Court soaring 150 feet above them were waiting for the next light show. Dembe watched the clock along with them. Eight minutes had gone by.

Nine.

Ten.

This was quite long enough. Turning, he all but collided with the smaller figure of Raymond, now holding a shopping bag.

"Oh," said Raymond. He held the bag out to him.

"What is this?" Dembe asked.

"An early Christmas present. I'm afraid I'm not going to have the time that I usually do this year, so . . ."

Dembe pushed through the tissue paper and felt something soft. Lifting it out, he saw what Raymond had purchased for him: an enormous, black ushanka. His eyes went over the surface of it to his friend, whose mouth quirked as he regarded the hat for himself.

"I know," he said. "There's nothing worse than the disillusion of receiving a functional gift. After all these years, I still don't think you are acclimated to our winters, though. I mean," and Red indicated his friend's perfectly shaved head, "you've got even less than I do."

Dembe smiled. "Thank you, Raymond." He was quietly inspecting the gift again, turning it over in his hands. "I love it."

Watching him, Red felt the surge of something familiar and welcome. Dangerous. To think he'd nearly lost  _him_ , too . . . Anslo needed to die for many things, but daring to take this deceptively fierce, deceptively gentle soul was reason enough.

"You don't," he disputed with a wry smile, "but I'm glad." Red looked up then, admiring the marble arch of the Grand Court's arcade above. "They don't make 'em like this anymore. My parents used to take us here when we visited my aunt." His gaze wandered to the tree and glittering scrim backdrop rising four stories behind it, about to be illuminated with thousands of colored lights. "I do love the light show," he said wistfully. "Oh, well. Maybe next time."

The cell phone Red had buzzed in his pocket as he and Dembe started making their way out of the crowd. He glanced down at the number.

"Lizzy."

"Reddington. It's Cooper."

Red stopped in his tracks, falling behind Dembe. A cold dread seized him, but he hoped the instinct was wrong. Knowing, of course, that it wasn't. "Harold, I told you: I'm not coming back until—"

"Agent Keen has been abducted," interrupted Cooper.

Red's eyes trailed slowly upward to lock on Dembe, who had turned and was waiting for him. "When," he said, the word at once controlled and venomous.

"Last night. You ready to meet now?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll call you back with a location."

Cooper ended the call, and Red drew the phone from his face, pursing his lips as looked at it. He swung his head up to Dembe.

"Get the car. Now."

 

* * *

 

There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall  
That's my soul up there  
There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall  
That's my soul up there  
There's a blue whale beached by a spring tide's ebb  
That's my soul up there  
There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web  
That's my soul up there

. . .


	4. Tonight, Tonight, Tonight

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

The place she was brought was cold, and smelled of damp and metal.

When she was finally deposited in a chair, hands still bound behind her, the hood that had been placed on her head so many hours ago remained where it was. She listened to the voices milling about, at one point hearing someone speaking Spanish in a low English accent. Deep down, she knew it had to be—but some part of her still hoped this was not her worst nightmare coming true.

When the hood was removed, she didn't recognize anyone, and no one answered her questions. She searched their faces, though, these so-called "Wild Bunch" mercenaries, for anyone who looked the slightest bit sympathetic. Considering she had killed two of them last week, the odds on that probably weren't in her favor.

When the first pale light of day started filtering in through the windows, the expanse of her new prison was revealed. Peeling columns lined what appeared to be an old—and partially flooded—factory floor. There were strange, rusted vats against one wall, and graffiti marred much of the room's surfaces. The most unsettling message from her vantage point was one in black, above a door:

**I SEE YOU, BUT YOU CAN'T  
SEE ME**

When the room looked about as bright as it was ever going to be, he showed up. And while his identity didn't surprise her, the sight of Anslo Garrick kneeling in front of her was still a disturbing one to absorb.

"Lizzy."

She eyed him warily.

"I'm glad to have found you again," he smirked, as only his face could. "We're almost back to where we started."

"What do you want?" Liz asked.

"Many things, love. But all in good time. You know, I have to say, it just occurred to me: The man I was on the phone with, before . . . your husband. Does he know about you two?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You and Red."

"Me and Red?"

He held his hand out, as if what he was saying should be obvious.

"Oh—no, it's not like that."

Anslo frowned. "So, you're not . . . ?"

"No."

"Then why in heaven's name would he . . ." Anslo looked at her, and his mouth twisted. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Anslo got up. "I may just need to rethink this, is all."

"He'll come for me, you know," Liz told Anslo's back. "My husband. He'll find me."

"Well, I hope for his sake, love, he does not. Because my men outside will give him a bullet for his troubles if so. Speaking of—how's old Donnie doing these days?"

"He's OK," Liz replied, forcing the image of Tom being shot on sight from her mind. "He's going to be OK."

Anslo was standing over a table, apparently inspecting the contents of it. "Perhaps he'll be coming for you, too. You really have quite the bevy of men on your detail, Lizzy." He glanced over at her. "What is it about you, exactly? I do hope to find out in our time together here."

"Actually, the most likely 'man' to come after me is my employer," said Liz. "You know, the FBI? I think you know as well as I do, there's no way you get out of this thing."

Anslo's body shifted, and she could see there was a tool of some sort in his hands.

"I don't want to hurt you, Lizzy," he told her. "But I'll do what I have to."

»»««

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

"Do not worry, Raymond. We shall find her. Just as we found you."

He was trying to be helpful, but Red's mind was racing as Dembe drove. Blindly, his eyes caught and followed the trees whizzing by. All he could hear was what Anslo had said, before his team—before Lizzy—came to his rescue.

_You know what I can do, though, Red? I can find Lizzy. I can hurt her. I can make her suffer. And when I'm finished, I can kill her._

Red ran his hand across his mouth, picturing her alone with him right now. "Yeah," he replied finally.

They pulled into the underground garage of the Post Office—the absolute last place Red wished to be, but Harold had argued it was the most secure location he could offer. He'd personally gone over his office inch by inch to make sure it wasn't bugged. Deeper than that, though, Red got the impression Cooper didn't trust any location of Red's choosing. Plus, Liz was taken from the District. Red needed to come in.

The large eyes of Agent Mojtabai lifted from his workstation as he and Dembe were escorted to Harold's office. Turning from where he stood, the assistant director looked grim, exhausted.

"Glad I was able to get in touch with you," he said, waggling Liz's cell phone. "They picked this up in Georgetown Waterfront Park." He placed it on the corner of his desk and nudged it an inch closer to Red, who stared down at it as though it were an object from outer space.

"There's a text that was sent to her," said Cooper, "to meet there. Sender, Nick's Pizza?"

Red met his gaze. Harold may have been spent, but he was clearly doing his best to not explode on him.

"Kind of strange a pizza place would ask her to come out in the middle of the night, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," said Red. "I have been communicating with Agent Keen via cell phone, but he must have . . . somehow, he—"

"'He'?"

"It's Garrick, Harold. It has to be Garrick."

"And Garrick hacked into your communications with Agent Keen? How?"

"I don't know. I've never known Anslo to engineer something like this. Like I said before, he's a blunt-force object."

"Right. Only now that blunt-force object has one of our own."

Red hesitated. "You couldn't have stopped—"

"I'm responsible for her, Reddington!" Harold exclaimed, his face incredulous while Red averted his entirely. "She's my agent. Not yours. Despite whatever little pet project you consider her to be."

"I'm sorry," Red offered. "Believe me, I'm gonna make this right."

Cooper swiped at his brow. "Look, I have to run into a meeting with Diane. She called it right before you got here. Just—don't do anything without us, all right? I need you on this."

"You know I can't promise that, Harold."

"Try."

Red's smile was noncommittal. He replaced his hat and headed back downstairs. Aram was standing now, and he spoke without looking at him as he passed.

"Mr. Reddington."

Red stopped and turned. Forcing himself, Aram met his waiting stare.

"You'll find her," he said, a lilting hope in his uncertain voice. "Won't you?"

Reddington looked at him, and nodded purposefully. "Yes, Aram," he replied. "I will."

»»««

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

Anslo came back from conferring with his men with a phone in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. "Assuming your phone's been found where we left it," he said, "they know what it was brought you out there. Won't Red feel bad." He began punching in the number.

Liz watched him. "What was the point of all that at the park?" she asked. "The Red impersonator?"

"Oh, just to ensure you were thoroughly disoriented. Seems to've done the trick?" he added, cocking his head at her while he waited for someone to answer.

"Red," Anslo greeted. Relieved and worried at once, Liz searched Anslo's unabashedly triumphant face. "How are things? Yes. Well, I'm sure you've been expecting a call from me. She is indeed." He turned from where he was pacing. "Scream," he mouthed.

Liz set her own mouth in a line, and watched as Anslo's eyes went cold. He moved towards her and covered the phone with his hand. "I'll make you one way or another," he warned. "Do it now."

Having never attempted a halfhearted scream before, Liz gave it her best shot and let out a yelp. She didn't need to see the pained grimace on the other end of the line, however, to realize she may have sold it a bit too well.

"Now," Anslo was saying, "I won't even make you work for this one, Red. I'm going to tell you exactly where we are. Somewhere that will take more than a hop and a skip for your precious task force to pop in on us, and less than a hop and a skip for me to slip these shores. You just set your coordinates for New York. I thought 'Elizabeth' was a little on the nose, but we are right next door," he divulged with a smile. "I'll text you the location en route. God bless technology, eh?"

The flash of hope Liz felt at the thought of being delivered from this place faded when she heard Anslo's next words: "Oh, and if I see one of your new friends, she dies. No FBI, not even Dembe. I know you're working with a skeleton crew now," he taunted, and Liz could just see Red setting his jaw wherever he was, "so. You'll hardly miss one teammate at your side, will you? And I know you're not stupid: the two of you against my men don't stand a snowball's chance. You almost got Dembe killed once in recent days—are you so willing to risk him again?"

In mute dismay, Liz could only guess what Red's answer was going to be.

"No one but you, old friend," Anslo reiterated. "Or I kill Lizzy. I may just do that anyway, but I will do it immediately in that scenario. I'd rather _watch_ you watch me kill her, of course, but it would still serve to make you miserable in the end." He held Liz's stare, listening to Red and nodding as if she were the one speaking.

"Fair enough. See you soon," he concluded.

»»««

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

Red glanced at his watch. He had four hours of driving ahead of him, when he and Dembe had been a mere hour and a half from North Jersey before. The jet made the most sense, but his movements were more likely to be discovered that way, no matter what kind of precautions were taken.

He looked at Dembe then. Necessary as it was, he couldn't fathom how he was going to leave him behind. Gathering his coat to himself, he crossed back to where Dembe was standing.

"That was Garrick," Red confirmed. "I know where they are. Or, at least, I will very shortly." He paused. "And you can't come with me."

The confused expression on his friend's face quickly morphed into one of protest. "No—Raymond, no. That is what he wants."

"More or less," Red admitted. "But I'll think of something. I always do, right?"

Dembe shook his head. "Not this time. Your mind is clouded."

"Actually, I feel a remarkable clarity about it all," said Red, and his own head slowly went from side to side. "No more deaths on my head, Dembe. Not now, and not the least of which is going to be yours. When Luli—" His voice wavered instantly on the word, and he started nodding in a transparent attempt at covering.

With only the fedora to meet his gaze, Dembe waited. "That was not your fault, Raymond," he assured him.

"Yeah." Red looked up again. "Technically, it was Anslo's, but everything I did, everything I've done, led Luli right to that spot. And I'll be paying for that the rest of my life. Now," he sighed, "I know you'll come after me eventually, but it is imperative—absolutely imperative—that I show up there alone. All right?"

Dembe was clearly seething, and Red glanced away, letting the silence settle between them. "He's not going to kill me on the spot, Dembe," he murmured with a small smile. "He wants it to be slow, and excruciating. He told me so himself."

But Dembe was not smiling back. He was thinking of the last time he'd lost Raymond to Anslo, and how it had felt to watch them go. Now he was about to relive that same moment. Only now it was worse, because Raymond was asking him to let it happen.

"Dembe. If you respect me—" Red pressed his lips together. "If you love me," he continued gravely, "you will do this for me. It's important to me."

"I know she is," Dembe told him, his substitution seamless. "But Elizabeth would not want this, either."

"Yeah." Red sniffed at the leaden sky, his mouth falling open to breathe in the cold air. "Well. She will learn to live with it. She has to."

»»««

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

The drive was tedious, as he knew it would be. He didn't even realize he had the radio on until a familiar song, "I'll Be Home for Christmas" by Johnny Mathis, came over the local all-Christmas station. His parents used to play that record every year, and he'd made it a part of his own collection as an adult. Gosh, he hadn't heard this since . . . Red turned the dial, absently letting Genesis's "Tonight, Tonight, Tonight" serve as the soundtrack to his rambling thoughts instead.

_Wait is over, Red. People are dying now._

Liz had even told him—she'd _told_ him she was worried about Garrick coming for her, and what did he do to protect her? Fuck all.

It started to snow shortly after I-95 merged into the Jersey Turnpike, and Red eased off the gas. The last thing he needed at this point was to get into a goddamned accident.

Eventually, Anslo's directions began to run out. And if the town of Elizabeth was a little too cute, the final exit made Red close his eyes and shake his head: Raymond Boulevard. Almost at the river now, Red followed the snow-covered drive that led to the abandoned factory. He stopped some distance away and put the car in park, staring up at it. Fat flakes continued to fall and dissolve on the windshield without a sound.

His heart was in his ears.

He concentrated on breathing, on converting that fear to something useful, something productive. He could do this. He always got what needed to be done, done. Even when he was betrayed, ambushed, walked into things he shouldn't have—his combined training and instincts had always seen him through. He would need some luck, as always, but if things worked out just so, the way they _had_ to . . . Elizabeth would be home in the end.

Red stepped out of the car and put on his hat. As it always did, the snow cast a lovely, unnatural silence over everything, and, at the sight of the railroad bridge that stretched just over the Passaic here, he thought of his own favorite quote from _It's a Wonderful Life_ :

_You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are? Anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles._

Here, Red mused, was a spot one might truly appreciate all three. Around the river bend to his south, the Pulaski Skyway loomed dark and massive in the night. Shifting his gaze past Jersey City to Manhattan, he found the Empire State Building and lingered a moment to soak it all in. Not a bad one, he decided, as far as these things went. Over the years, under similar circumstances, there had been worse views to remember the world by.

A short whistle pierced the air. He turned and counted four of Anslo's mercs tracking him from their various posts. Under the shelter of his hat, Red smiled through the snow.

"Gentlemen," he greeted back.

 

* * *

 

As for me, I could leave the world with today in my eyes.

~ truman capote, "a christmas memory"

 

* * *

 

I've had this black suit on  
Roaming around like I'm ready for a funeral  
One more mile till the road runs out

~ frank ocean, "swim good"


	5. Black

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

"Good," Anslo replied into his radio. He looked at Liz. "Bring him in."

Liz gaped back at him, heart pounding. She'd heard the conditions of this agreed-upon surrender herself, but still. The rest of Red's mysterious team had to be just behind him . . . right? Or even Ressler, as Anslo had suggested. Maybe he was teaming up with Red—if not physically, then from afar. An unlikely bond forged in an unlikelier box and put to immediate use. Try as she might, Liz just couldn't shake the memory of Ressler's face when he thought Red was still being held by Garrick. She wasn't sure she could remember Ressler _ever_ looking afraid.

True to his apparent word, no one was by Red's side except the men who flanked him when he appeared. Unlike the last time they saw each other, he looked to be dressed in his usual attire. She noticed there were snowflakes melting on his hat. The sight of him in the hands of people other than law enforcement, it was suddenly the Post Office all over again. At least back there they had a chance, though—a chance for the cavalry, a chance someone close by could save them. Now there was no one.

Panic set in, and Red must have seen it, because his head subtly went to one side at her: _Don't let see them see you're scared. Don't give them that. Don't worry._

Sorry, Red, thought Liz, an unexpected stab of resentment stealing through her. That's just a bit out of my control right now.

Beside her, Anslo was smiling. "Christmas come early indeed."

Red licked his lips, still focused on Liz. "It's gonna be all right," he told her, but there was a breathlessness to his voice, a distinct fear that laced it she had never heard before.

"Don't _lie_ to the girl, Red," said Anslo, his own voice dripping with disdain. "I think she can see quite clearly that none of this is going to end well. Besides, women hate being lied to. Something you've learnt many times over, if memory serves?"

Ignoring him still, Red squinted at Liz. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

"She's dandy," Anslo affirmed. "Stand up, love. Go ahead; show him."

Liz all but rolled her eyes at Anslo as she rose. And then from stress or lack of food, or perhaps just moving too fast, everything went black momentarily—she swayed on her feet, but seeing Red's eyes widen in concern promptly brought her back.

"There," said Anslo, "that's good."

Finally, Red addressed him. "You've got what you want now, Anslo. Let her go."

"Come now, Red," he replied, walking behind Liz and standing over her with a mildly amused expression on his face. "This is what I have wanted since our little reunion. It's why you tried, ever so casually, to get me to leave her behind. Oh, I've dreamt of having you all to myself, of course, but now to have an audience—someone you would not, I imagine, wish to see you so pathetically humbled, dashing all those illusions she might have ever had of you . . . You see, Red, I'm going to cut you down to a version you never meant for her to see. Something you never wanted anyone to see." Anslo's fingers waggled. "Coat and shirt," he directed.

Liz inhaled through her nose, told herself to keep breathing as the neglected details of Anslo's mandate were addressed first: the removal of Red's snow-kissed hat, the leather gloves just like those worn by his doppelgänger in the park.

"Before you have a chance to do anything, first thing's first," Anslo was saying as a new man Liz hadn't seen till now approached. "Doctor? Please."

The supposed doctor stood by while Red was swiftly divested of his coat and the numerous layers hidden beneath it: suit jacket, vest, shirt, tie. Just as the rather inane notion that he was going to be cold crossed her mind, Liz felt the muzzle of Anslo's gun bury into her shoulder.

"Easy does it now," said Anslo, watching Red for any sudden movements. Red made none, however, keeping his own eyes on Liz as he was reduced to his undershirt and his bare arms were pulled behind him once more. The unpleasant pressure on her shoulder took Liz back to that dreadful day with Stanley Kornish, and she twitched in discomfort. Sadly, she realized, looking back at Red, she was actually better off in that situation. They both had been.

"OK, OK." Anslo moved away from Liz's chair as Red stood now in his white T-shirt. A blank canvas, Liz thought, to her instant horror and guilt. Oblivious, Red held her gaze.

"We only scratched the surface before—quite literally," Anslo sniffed. "Lucky for you then, and lucky for me now, you escaped the worst of it. At least I hope so, anyway?" He gave Red a sidelong look. "Nothing I should know now, is there? Because the last thing I'd want is for you to check out early on us. You would do that, just to spite me," he said, and Liz's mind took off running with a new host of things to worry about while Red shook his head disinterestedly.

"It doesn't take much to spite you, Anslo."

"Perhaps not, but that's no matter now. As you've probably noticed, I had to find a new doctor. Curious, innit? Not one week later, and my previous one is nowhere to be found. Rumours about him ending up at the bottom of an elevator shaft, but you know how that goes. Pure chatter, for the time being."

Liz looked to Red for a response, but his eyes were boring into Anslo.

"Now, we can't have you pulling any of your stunts so long as you're here. And as you well know, Red, there's always a delicate balance to these things: I need you to be compliant, but I also want you to be completely aware of what is coming to you. To experience that . . . antici _pa_ tion as the most necessary component of torture. This should help with that."

"Anslo," Liz interjected, just as the doctor took Red's arm and administered something with a syringe. Scanning him for any immediate reaction, she discovered something far worse: even in this dim light, Red looked drained as it was, and Anslo hadn't touched him yet. She felt like she was going to be sick.

Anslo must have been watching, because his next words were directed at her. "It's becoming clear now, ain't it? What trusting Raymond Reddington gets you?"

Liz's eyes instinctively went to Red, but she quickly looked away.

"Don't worry, love. You won't hurt his feelings. He don't have none. The American outlaw . . ." he mused, "and the FBI agent who wishes to save him. A strange pair, to be sure. I'd have thought this is, like, Law Enforcement 101, but apparently not—you never grow attached to those it's your job to line up against the wall, Lizzy."

Well aware that Anslo was aiming to leverage her presence here, Liz shook her head. "I don't care about him," she said quietly.

"Yeah? Somehow I doubt that, given your behavior at the park."

Red frowned at him in confusion, then turned to Liz.

"Oh, I knew you'd come running, Red, but I wasn't so sure about her," said Anslo, as a familiar set of restraints were locked into place around Red's wrists. "Snuffing you out right in front of her, I knew she'd run one way or another. You should be flattered, old boy; she came to you."

Red took a deep breath, drawing himself up in the face of this information. If it hadn't been abundantly clear before, it sure as hell was now: she was _really_ here because of him.

Satisfied his men had Red secured, Anslo addressed Liz again. "Your field skills are clearly lacking," he observed, "dashing out in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you were going, no backup whatsoever? Truth be told, I expected more, Lizzy."

"Don't call her that," said Red, literally wincing at the sound of Anslo uttering her name.

Anslo smiled, pleased. "I call the shots, here, Red." He motioned towards another folding chair, and it was brought to a spot some ten feet from Liz's. Once Red was seated and she found herself level with him, Liz could see his eyes cataloguing their surroundings in small, furtive glances. Crossing in front of a hand-painted sign that read **DO NOT GO BETWEEN TWISTERS** , Anslo lifted his hands to the expanse around them.

"These empty shells really are a sad reminder of the great empire you once enjoyed," he said. Liz looked between the two of them, confused, until she realized he was talking about America. "It's quite the full circle, no: One generation works in a factory, so the next one doesn't have to. _That_ generation sends the jobs away altogether, and before you know it the spawn that follow have nothing better to do than document the spooky ruins as, uh, what's the term? 'Urban explorers.'" His eyes traveled the length of floor that once bustled and hummed. "Oh, well. At least they still serve some kind of purpose, eh?"

"Not to worry," Red answered dryly, "I'm sure this space will be converted into exorbitantly priced condominiums soon enough."

"Mmm. Well, they'll have quite the mess to contend with in between times, now, won't they?" Anslo's slow walk brought him closer to the table of hidden instruments, and Liz shifted in her seat, testing the zip tie at her wrists but feeling no give there. Anslo stopped behind Red, inspecting the cuffs for himself. Straightening, he inexplicably ran his fingers along the collar of Red's T-shirt. Liz caught the suppressed look of protest this contact elicited, but Anslo soon found what he was seeking: gently, he peeled the bandage away to reveal the fresh sutures where Red's microchip had been. Apparently noticing something else, he stopped, pulling back for a wider glimpse at whatever discovery he had made. His eyes went over Red's head to Liz.

"It's been a long and strange road that's led us here, Red," Anslo remarked.

"Oh, God . . . It surely has, Anslo."

"And now there's a new fork," he said, indicating Liz. "I never pictured it like this, I must say. But we have arrived."

"Let her go, Anslo," Red insisted, a little thickly now.

"The options are quite endless, and I can safely say I've considered them all. Perhaps I will blind you first, so you can hear everything as it's coming. A little taste of that darkness I was made to endure in the hours that remain for you."

Liz was finding it increasingly hard to breathe and decided to pick up where Red's sweep had left off, committing to memory those reaches of the room that lay out of sight behind him.

"For someone so enamored with the sound of his own voice, it would be fitting to silence you," Anslo continued, "but then I'd be robbing myself of hearing all the sounds you're going to make. And that, I can't abide. I wasn't lying when I said the day would end with your screams, Red." He shrugged. "Just a different day, is all."

Anslo again approached the table, this time retrieving something from its surface. "Might as well start off simple," he said, and made a show of sliding brass knuckles over his fingers. Liz went numb with dread, unwilling to witness to any of what she was about to be made to. She looked at Red. The effects of the tranquilizing agent were clearly taking hold as he blinked up, dazedly, in Anslo's direction.

"No," murmured Liz. "Anslo, no . . ."

"It's been a long time coming, and I want to enjoy this," Anslo went on, "but I also know not to be too confident as you always come with surprises, and we may not have the time that I think we do. So. Let's not waste any more of it, then."

Through the fog of his dulled senses, Red watched Anslo's hand draw back and up. He was still shrinking away when the new knuckles of his old associate connected—and the singing shock that filled his ears merged with the sound of what could only be Lizzy, screaming.

 

* * *

 

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out  
There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt  
There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed  
There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

. . .


	6. Swiftly Landing

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

Tom Keen rapped on the door and waited, blowing on his hands as the first snowflakes began to fall. He'd tried two addresses already and was preparing himself to be disappointed yet again. Finally, he wasn't.

"Dembe," he said.

The man behind the door moved to shut it, but Tom's reflexes were just as quick, and he blocked it with his arm.

"Hey. Is he here?"

"No," said Dembe, not budging.

Tom ducked his head, seeking his eyes. "Hey, Dembe." Reluctantly, Dembe held his questioning gaze. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to make contact, OK, but I just—I didn't know where else to go, all right? I'm losing my mind here. Liz isn't answering any of my calls. And I can't . . ." his voice trailed off as Dembe sighed and looked away, "get a hold of him." When he spoke again, his tone was soft.

"Something's happened," he said, nodding. "Hasn't it?"

"Yes," Dembe replied.

"I knew it." Tom sighed himself. "Shit, I knew it. Is this related to what happened at the Post Office? Where are they?"

"I do not know. Raymond went to find her, but he would not tell me where he was going."

"What do you mean, he—why? Why would he do that?"

"He said he had to go alone. I tried to stop him. I told him not to go."

"Hey," said Tom, his tone conciliatory in response to Dembe's obvious distress. "It's not your fault. We just gotta . . . I don't know. There has to be some way of tracking him down, though."

Folding his arms against the cold, Dembe busied himself watching the snowflakes as they hit the stoop and melted.

"I know Reddington doesn't trust me," Tom ventured. "And you're loyal to Reddington, which means that you don't trust me. But there are no ulterior motives here, OK? I just want to help."

When Dembe was silent still, Tom hesitated.

"I'll admit: I was ready to get the hell out of Dodge this week. With Liz, you know, just start over. I know you wouldn't agree with me taking her from him. I get that; I do. It's Liz, though," and Dembe met his eyes at last. "It's Red," he added.

"Yes," agreed Dembe.

"So." Tom exhaled. "What do we know about this guy?"

»»««

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

Liz's eyes traveled from the glinting, undulating fingers to their intended target.

"No," she breathed. Had it been out loud? She tried to find her voice. "Anslo, no . . ."

"It's been a long time coming," said Anslo, "and I want to enjoy this, but I also know not to be too confident as you always come with surprises, and we may not have the time that I think we do. So. Let's not waste any more of it, then."

There was, of course, no avoiding the fist headed his way, and Liz watched—in the same near slow motion she'd experienced by the river—Red's utterly futile attempt at doing just that. The first blow reopened the cut above his eye; the second sent him crashing to the floor.

"No!" shrieked Liz. "No, stop!"

Red realized his chair wasn't there anymore at about the same time the cold, unyielding surface of the floor rushed up to meet him. Faraway sounds were drifting in and out, sounds he soon identified as Lizzy. Anslo must have been hurting her, if she was screaming like that. He just needed . . . a minute, was all.

Liz could see his head moving, but he was not trying to get up from where he fell. "Red! Red," she cried.

Wait, thought Red—this is for _me_? Unfamiliar as the context was, he was grateful for something to focus on and clung to her voice as a lifeline, anchoring him in the waking world. Really, it was just nice to lie down for however long he had here. Enjoying a filthy cement floor just because it gave him a moment's rest, hmm . . . how would Aram put it? 'That's really messed up,' he could hear him saying now.

"Do you need some assistance, Red?" Garrick asked from above, circling buzzard-like.

Red attempted to respond, but it came out little more than a grunt.

Anslo put a hand to his ear. "I'll take that as a yes." He gestured and waited while Reddington was returned to his chair. When he swung out again he stopped just short of hitting him, chuckling as Red flinched in the same, obviously delayed stupor as before. Rearing back, he punched him in the face and then in the ribs, and Red went down. Again.

Liz squeezed her eyes shut, shaking uncontrollably now. She didn't want to give Anslo the satisfaction he so craved, which meant she was going to have to refrain from speaking as much as possible.

Wiping at his mouth, Anslo shook his head. "You just have a face that's begging to be hit, Red. Has anyone ever told you that? Blame your mum, I suppose."

Red sputtered against the floor and waited for Anslo's words to register. "Hmm. My mother were here," he mused, the impossible thought unbearably sad somehow, "you and your friends would have some explaining to do."

"Yes. Well," Garrick summoned his nearest guards again. "Lucky for us, then."

"Please don't do this," Liz begged while Reddington was hauled up. It occurred to her she was literally gasping for every breath. "Please. I can help you, Anslo; I can get you things."

He turned. "What could you possibly offer me, Agent Keen? Apart from the obvious," he said, and his eyes roamed the length of her.

Somehow confident this was one thing she did not have to worry about with Anslo, Liz ignored him. "I'll give you access to more intel than you could ever want out of the Bureau," she said, darting a glance to Red. "OK? You just need to keep him alive. He's more valuable to us alive."

Anslo smiled, his eyes beady as they narrowed. "Points for creativity, Agent Keen, but we all know you would never do such a thing. Sell out your country for this criminal?"

"He has proven to be a reliable asset."

"Mmm. And how many of these targets he's helped point out are still alive themselves, may I ask?"

Faces of Blacklisters now dead and gone, all in a matter of weeks, came to Liz in an instant. She swallowed in silence, and Garrick appeared vindicated.

"I gotta hand it to you, Red," he said, turning back, "when Fitch told me about your situation, I could hardly believe it. But I see you've managed to finagle more than one perk out of it, as you always do. Insatiable!"

"Fitch?" Red cut in, drawing Liz's attention: this was somebody he was actually afraid of?

"Oh, yes. Mr. Fitch is who wanted to see you in Baltimore, before this one came along." While Red appeared lost in rumination, Anslo carried on blithely: "And whereas I assume he had certain, pertinent matters in mind, you know what the best part of all this is? I don't need a bloody thing out of you! No names, no passwords, no vital information that needs to be unlocked. I'm curious about _this_ , of course," and he made a swinging motion between Liz and Red, "but we are well on our way to getting to the bottom of that, too."

Liz's mind raced as he started back for the table. The harsh truth was that all of this could be over as soon as it had started. Mentally, she riffled through past cases, trying to comfort herself—in a bizarre, backwards sort of way—of victims she knew who had survived traumas they never should have recovered from: sustained blows to the head, so many stab wounds the doctors nearly lost count. Was it Red's intention to simply take whatever Garrick had in mind until reinforcements arrived? Was that his master plan?

"I really am just so genuinely curious," Anslo went on. "But you knew that. It's why both of you are trying so desperately to not give me anything in that regard." He fixed his gaze on Elizabeth. "Why come out of that box for you? Why come _here_ for you?" At no response from either, he shrugged.

"Like I said, all in good time. Until then, there are reparations to be had." His fingers touched something below him.

"You and Red, though—" said Liz, desperately stalling, "you were friends once, right? I mean, there's gotta be some common ground there."

Garrick stopped, regarding her with renewed scrutiny. "What is it you do at the FBI, exactly? Tell me you're not this one's therapist or something, heaven above," and he shot Red a look of horror.

"What?" Liz replied. "No. No, I—"

"Or perhaps you are the new Luli. You saw how well that worked out for her. Dembe may have escaped by the skin of his teeth, but he is next." Anslo turned to Red. "I have no doubt some part of you is hoping your little dutiful soldier is on his way to save you. You should know, it will only guarantee his death."

"Hmm," Red spoke finally. "Dembe's arrival would herald several deaths, but _his_ would not be one of them."

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself what you need to, Red."

"And you do the same, Anslo." His head throbbing something fierce now, Red thought he saw Elizabeth gaping in his direction.

Garrick smiled at both of them. "Oh, no—see, this is good, because the longer you try to keep this little charade up, the harder you will fall, and the more embarrassing a spectacle it'll be when it happens."

"No, Anslo. The longer _you_ drag this thing out to get . . . whatever it is you expect to get out of this, the longer you're giving the feds to come find you. Most of them will be tickled pink at the thought of being rid of me, no doubt, but they are not going to abandon Agent Keen. And you know that, deep down. Kidnapping of a federal agent? Historically, that's always been a big no-no. They will come in shooting and ask questions later. They will hunt you down," said Red with a ragged sigh, "and they will kill you, and internal affairs won't care one lick about how it went down, provided she is recovered."

The speech—a sound bite, by Reddington standards—had seemingly taken something out of him, but Liz couldn't deny the semblance of comfort his words brought. Looking to Garrick for a reaction, she found their captor thoroughly unmoved.

"You always did presume to be the smartest person in the room, Red. But guess what? I know what you're thinking." Anslo paused before continuing, his voice soft and calm: "' _How do I get Lizzy out of here?_ ' You know you can't, but you're trying to work it out anyway. The longer you stay, though, the more knocks to the head you receive, the more confused and ineffectual you will become. Soon you will forget why you're here. You'll forget who I am, who she is. Who _you_ are. And soon, you'll come to expect what I give you every day. Maybe even remind me of what I'm supposed to be doing, although naturally I will be escalating the severity of these things as I go, which will only serve to confuse you more."

Liz felt her heart beating like mad again as her gaze shifted between them. If Anslo's words had filled Reddington with any sort of doubt, he did not show it.

"I may not make it out of this thing here—" Red replied, "you, most definitely, will not. But rest assured, Elizabeth will. And you can take that little nugget with you when you go."

"Oh, no need to wonder, Red: you will _not_ be making it out of this thing." Garrick straightened. "I tell you what, though. I've changed my mind about turning this into an all-nighter. We're getting old, you and me," he said, and a chagrined look puckered his face. "Your body can't handle things the way it used to. And regardless of what you may think, my world does not stop just because you're here. So while you take a bit of a rest, I've other business to attend to."

"Wait, speaking of—" said Liz, "I have to go to the bathroom."

Anslo stopped. "And?"

"And, I can't just go find the nearest wall like everyone else here." She caught a faint smile turning on Red's face. "There's gotta be a room or something you could stand outside of? Please, it'll only be a minute."

"Curious you think you deserve any sort of special treatment with us, Agent Keen, seeing as you are responsible for the deaths of several of our colleagues," Anslo replied. Liz stared back at him. "Thought I forgot about that one, didn't you, love?"

"I . . . um . . ."

"Anslo?" One of his men was waving a phone for him.

"Oh, for Pete's sakes, just go," he said. "Carranza, take her outside. And bring someone with you."

Liz's eyes went to the MP5A3 in Carranza's hands as he approached. "OK. Can I just?" She motioned towards Red with her head, shocked that she was even asking herself. When she was met with a blank stare, she shrugged her shoulders to further illustrate her current dilemma. "Can I—I won't do anything; I swear. I just want to check him."

"Anslo?" Carranza shouted, making Liz cringe—but Anslo merely nodded at them from where he stood, apparently curious to witness this exchange for himself. Carranza cut the ties at her wrists. "All right, have at it."

She couldn't believe any of it had actually worked but knew well enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Liz went over to Red and knelt down in front of him, besieged with the familiarity of the circumstances. What was there to say? "Hey," she said, idiotically. He smiled, and the sight of the first genuine one she'd seen in forever and a day hit her hard. Feeling her face crumple, she began to cry.

Red averted his eyes with a quick swallow himself, wishing she'd just get on her way already. "He's watching, you know."

"I know," Liz snuffled. "I don't care." From her peripheral vision, another merc had joined Carranza, and the two were quietly discussing something. She put her hand to the side of Red's face that wasn't swelling and felt the uncommon stubble meet her palm. She pushed a stream of air through her mouth, trying to calm herself. "What exactly is the plan here?" she whispered.

Red blinked at her. "Plan?"

Liz cast another sideways glance towards Anslo's men and inched closer, keeping her head down as she addressed him. "Tell me you've got a plan?"

"OK. I've got a plan."

She looked up. "It's not a joke, Red."

"Lizzy—"

"You shouldn't have done this," she said, a quiet desperation in her voice. "You shouldn't have come here."

"Well, we're here now."

"Yes," said Liz. "And now we're going to die."

"Don't—don't say that. You're going to be fine."

"'I'm' going to be fine," she repeated, frowning.

"Elizabeth, I want you to listen to me. If you find . . . if it turns out you just bought yourself an opening that they don't know about here, you take it. Take it and don't look back."

Her gut reaction was one of protest, but as Liz returned his solemn gaze it struck her: what if this was their only chance?

"Let's _go_ ," Garrick called irritably.

Liz straightened and went to join the two men who were now waiting for her. As she let them guide her towards a door, she stared at the graffiti on the back of it:

**BYE  
BYE**

When they got outside, it was sleeting. She spied a car parked beneath the trees, and knew it must have been what Red drove there. Following with her eyes, she memorized the direction of the access road he had used. Carranza pointed towards a tree in the direction of the river.

"There's good. Stay visible."

She walked over to it with her guards remaining behind, stationed between her and the factory. Headlights were passing over the bridge that was near them, and she thought of the Key Bridge. Home. Using the tree as at least a partial shield, she squatted. The fear and adrenaline and fatigue were making her shake, and she couldn't go at first, but finally the warmth of relief came.

Feverishly, Liz tried to think.

If this weather turned back to snow tonight, and they were to get enough of it, the powder could muffle her footsteps. But then, it would also relay her tracks. She pictured herself running and being shot from behind. Garrick might have snipers posted on the roof for all she knew. What would Red do then? Anslo would no doubt have her body brought inside and dumped right in front of him. With ominous clarity, Liz could see him crying over her. She'd never seen Reddington cry once, and yet somehow the image was instantly accessible in her mind.

Maybe it was presumptuous of her—his words exactly, from just two cases ago—to imagine such things. He just seemed so strange lately, though . . . quieter, pensive. Was the attack on the Post Office why, or was it something else?

"All right, time's up," the other mercenary shouted. Upon re-entering the factory, Liz couldn't tell whether Red was relieved or disappointed to see her return. She gave him a look that, she hoped, conveyed some measure of newfound steadiness: _I'm OK._ _We're going to figure this out._ _I'm not going anywhere._

"Tie her to the chair," Anslo instructed. She met his eyes, and he gave her a genial smile. "Sorry. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, love." He turned to Reddington.

"Being the magnanimous gentleman that I am," he declared, placing both hands upon his chest, "I'm going to let you decide how best to spend your night, Red."

While Anslo's men got Liz situated, fastening a new zip tie around her wrists and unraveling lengths of rope to bind her with, Red's restraints were linked to a hook in the floor by a chain just long enough to allow him to stand.

"You're free to lie down on this sopping floor," said Garrick, "but you know as well as I do, it will only expedite that hypothermia that's already setting in."

Liz's eyes skimmed the surface of which he spoke, her inane thought from earlier suddenly not so inane anymore.

"Doctor?" Anslo addressed the man who had kept well out of sight until now. "I have my men in shifts, but please call if you need."

The doctor nodded, something resembling guilt in his face, which Liz mentally filed away.

"Nighty-night," Garrick called behind him, and he disappeared with one of the Wild Bunch. Letting her eyes drift from them, Liz met the waiting gaze of Red.

"You should sleep," he said.

"Yeah, right," she scoffed. Looking about, though, she found that most of the guards who remained were not paying the slightest bit of attention to them now that Anslo had gone.

"Lizzy, you haven't slept in what I can only safely assume is approaching thirty-six hours at this point. You need to get some rest while you can. I'll make sure nobody—I'll make sure you're safe."

Taking in the sight of him for herself, Liz could see from the unnatural way his body hitched with each breath that some significant damage had been inflicted with at least one of Anslo's blows. Not to mention the obviously worrisome issue of head trauma: if she fell asleep, and then Red did as well . . . "What about you?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't sleep on a good night," said Red, and he thought of Donald and the conversation they'd had in that box. Fucking hell. The day had come where he actually missed Agent Ressler.

"That's not very healthy," she admonished him.

"Healthy is for the unspeakably boring."

"Mmm."

Red waited, watching her fight it. "Lizzy?"

"Yeah?"

"Sleep."

She was hopelessly stubborn, for sure, but something had visibly eased with Anslo's departure. Her eyelashes fluttered, and Red was thankful she didn't seem to notice his own involuntary shaking now.

"Don't let me sleep too long, OK?" she murmured.

"I won't."

A memory from months ago, when the leaves were still green and she was warm inside a car, floated back to Liz as she closed her eyes. They had just narrowly escaped being executed by a notorious spy assassin, and she was angry. Angry at Red, at his evasiveness when confronted with the question of why he'd chosen her. She told him she had a life and people who cared about her, then suggested he had nothing of the sort. His response was as cryptic then as it was now:

_I have you._

»»««

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

Donald made it to the kitchen on his crutches, eyes adjusting to the day's brightness. His bedside alarm had informed him that all public schools and government offices were closed, even though it sounded like the storm was already being downgraded and they were only going to get a couple of inches max. Garrick and the Wild Bunch had infiltrated the Post Office exactly one week ago today, although it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. Well, maybe his _leg_ didn't feel like a lifetime had passed. Awkwardly, he set about making some coffee. While he waited, his mobile rang—all the way back in his room.

Genius, Don. Absolutely genius.

The phone had long stopped by the time he got there, but before he could turn around it started ringing again.

"Agent Ressler," greeted Harold Cooper.

"Sir?"

"Hello." Cooper paused. "How you feeling?"

"Better than last week," Donald answered, picking up on his hesitation. "How are things there?"

"Quiet. As you may have heard, the government's shut down today on account of the weather."

"Yeah, two whopping inches. Better call in the Guard. What's up?"

"I, uh . . ." Harold scratched at the back of his head. "There's been some developments that I knew you would want to be made aware of."

"Sir, what is it?"

"It's Agent Keen," said Harold. "She's been abducted."

Ressler sagged against his crutches. "Oh, my God." His mind raced, swiftly landing on Garrick. "When?"

"Sunday night."

"What? She's been gone for over twenty-four hours? I'm coming in."

"Ressler, you need your rest. I need you back at 100%."

"Sir, this task force isn't going to be 100% until we have Keen. I'm on my way."

»»««

**POINT NO POINT, NEW JERSEY**

Morning was dawning just outside the factory's windows. Mulling the discussion he'd just had with Carranza about the need to move on, Anslo considered Red from across the room. He recalled his little speech that they would be discovered sooner than later. Red probably had to have some sort of tracker on him, didn't he? Or perhaps the car? How could he have been so stupid.

Anslo approached them both. Keen had fallen asleep, with Red keeping bleary watch.

"What's this?" he asked. "Still asleep?"

"She's been through a lot, Anslo. Let her rest."

"Of that, I have no doubt, seeing as there is some connection with you. But we all have, Red. We've all been through a lot." He lifted his eyes to his men across the room. "Shall we end this now?" Anslo asked, his voice oddly hushed all of a sudden. "What do you say, old boy. It can all be over. Just say the word."

Red peered at him, trying to discern his meaning until the hands were fast around his throat. He choked weakly in surprise.

"Are you ready, Red? I know I am."

From the corner of his eye, he could tell that Elizabeth hadn't moved—still blissfully gone from this godforsaken place, even if just for a little while. Anslo's grip tightened, his thumbs delving harder, deeper. Red gulped in pain, effectively silenced.

"Lizzy will not be expecting to wake up alone, I'm sure, but you have my word: I won't even make her wait to join you. It'll be quick." Anslo leant in close, his next words purred: "Give us the signal, Red."

Panic clawed at Red as he struggled to no avail, feeling himself expend precious energy. He knew he had about 20 seconds, maybe 30 before he'd lose consciousness. Assuming Anslo had no intentions of letting go, any chances of saving Lizzy would die with him after that.

No, God.

Not like this.

As abruptly as the hands had come down, they released him. Red doubled over as he wheezed, dragging in the burning, blessed air.

Anslo stood wiping his lip and heaving from the exertion himself. "No," he said finally. "Not yet." He walked over to the table.

"Anyway, it's just not any fun if she's asleep," he told Red, turning back. "You're going to be her little alarm clock, though: whether she wakes up to the sound of your voice or things breaking is up to you."

»»««

Something audible was filtering through to Liz, but she was so exhausted, so emotionally and physically worn out, that her body clung to the prospect of sleep so much that she couldn't bear to leave it. Not yet.

In her dream she was back at home, but it wasn't the same somehow. When she walked to the window and looked outside, the building fell away, tall as a skyscraper.

Red was there, too—standing at the kitchen counter with his back to her, head bowed as he poured himself a drink.

"A stinger for a snowy afternoon," he intoned in a low voice.

She answered him, causing him to turn and face her. There was a small, red spot on his shirt, which appeared to expand as they stood facing each other.

"Red," she said, gaping at it.

"What?" Red followed the direction of her stare and regarded the stain for himself. He looked up at her, unconcerned. Smiling, even. The red was blossoming. Unable to tear her eyes from it, Liz slowly shook her head from side to side.

"We have to get out of here," she whispered.

Red shook his head back. "No," he told her, very gently. "We don't."

Remembering where she was, and where Red was, Liz woke with a start.

 

* * *

 

In the silence, the cheerful small sounds of the summer's day crept through the closed window. High on the left-hand wall hung two small patches of pink light. They were reflections cast upwards from the floor by the zebra stripes of June sunshine, cast upwards from two separate pools of blood a few feet apart.

As the day progressed the pink patches marched slowly along the wall. And slowly they grew larger.

~ ian fleming, _casino royale_


End file.
